


A little less Genghis Khan

by raspberryhunter



Category: Genghis Khan - Miike Snow (Music Video)
Genre: Gen, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6762130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberryhunter/pseuds/raspberryhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not always easy holding down an evil mastermind day job as a single mom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A little less Genghis Khan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiraMira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/gifts).



> Many thanks to the wonderful sprocket for beta!

The wickedly sharp rotor blades moved ever closer to Secret Agent No. 123's head. "I'll never give you the secret plans!" No. 123 forced out through gritted teeth, stretched on the rack, struggling against his bonds.

I stalked up to him, my three-inch stilettos tapping against the marble floor. "Oh yes, yes, you will," I said, in my best dulcet contralto. I tapped my long carmine nails against my other arm. "It's only a matter of time —"

There was a loud ringing from the phone in the corner. We're really not supposed to take calls while with an Agent, but — it was probably one of the kids' schools. I sighed and grabbed the receiver. "Yes?"

It was, in fact, the nurse from Billy's school. "Mrs. Goldnose —" they still haven't updated my records, even though the divorce went through six months ago — "Billy has a fever. You need to come pick him up."

"But— " I started, and the line went dead. I stared at the phone, as if that would help. Argh! I wanted badly to call my ex, but the last time I'd called him at work it had… not gone well.

"Er," No. 123 said, blinking his blue eyes at me, "not to bother you, if you're busy, but —" He looked sidelong at the rotor blades, which were still inching along towards his head.

"Oh, fine," I snapped, and gestured to a minion to cut the power. "Listen, I'm not ignoring you. Someone will be right back."

"It's really not necessary," I heard him say as I rushed out to Rosa's room. 

I knew she'd just finished up with an Agent and was doing paperwork. "Rosa? Hey, I hate to impose, but can you take up with 123 for me this afternoon? Billy's sick and I have to pick him up."

Rosa rolled her eyes at me. I knew what she was thinking: those of us who are childfree resent having to make sacrifices for you breeders, especially the ones who can't even hold on to your marriage.

Yeah, it hurts, but then again I'm used to judgmental types. E.V.I.L. Masterminds are typically Type A with a vengeance, although anyone who thinks they are so tough has never dealt with the moms in the classical music competition circuit, is all I'm saying. (My daughter, Mary, is a talented cellist. I'm not trying to boast. Well, maybe I am a little.)

"Listen, Rosa," I said, "Bob has the kids next week, so if you can take 123 today, I can take your early shift next week." It wasn't such a big sacrifice, as otherwise I'd just be awake and unhappy, missing my family.

"All right, Betty," said Rosa, drawing it out and making it sound like it was a terrible imposition on her part. Whatever. As long as I was covered.

*

Billy was definitely sick; he was quiet all the way home, and didn't even object when I bundled him off to bed. The thermometer measured 100.3; high enough to be concerned, not high enough to justify taking him to the doctor.

I phoned Bob, my ex. His name's really Goldnose, but once he had the affair with No. 102, got fired from E.V.I.L., and divorced me, he insisted that everyone call him Bob.

(Yes, it bothers me. It bothers me a lot, actually, when I stop and think about it. It's like he's trying to erase all those years with me, even the name I called him. Did he hate me so much?)

"Billy's sick," I said to Bob. "If he's still sick tomorrow, can you and 102 take the kids then instead of Saturday?" I knew neither of them worked Fridays, that they spent every Friday with each other doing the sort of thrillingly romantic things that Goldnose — Bob — never had had time to do with me. (Yes, I know this because I watch them on the E.V.I.L. surveillance sometimes, and yes, it's not a healthy thing to do, and yes, HR looks the other way as long as they have plausible deniability.)

Bob made a noise in his throat. He knew perfectly well that I knew that he and 102 don't work on Fridays. He also knew _how_ I knew. (Did he watch 102 on E.V.I.L. surveillance before they got together? While we were still married? He probably did. Ew.) "I guess so," he said reluctantly.

We exchanged a couple of pleasantries (which was an improvement over the last several times we'd talked; maybe he still liked me?), after which he abruptly hung up on me (…maybe not). I massaged my temples and tried not to get emotional. I knew it could have been a lot worse. I was lucky to have a job at all; there weren't that many around for single mothers, and worse, a single mother who didn't get alimony because her husband had gotten fired from his lucrative job and taken a part-time job at the local grocery store instead. It had been a really good thing for me that E.V.I.L. had totally revamped its hiring strategies after Bob was fired. And I'd been amazingly lucky that I'd bumped into Bob's co-worker at that PTA meeting who'd told me about it: HR was getting tired of their employees running off with the secret agents, and was actively recruiting women as more job-focused and less prone to unfortunate emotional connections to the people they worked with. And E.V.I.L. had great benefits and work-life balance. It had worked out.

Except that I didn't want to be a working mom. I'd always only wanted to be a stay-at-home wife and mother. I hated being away from my kids all day. I hated that I couldn't have cookies waiting for them when they got home, like I used to do.

And I still loved Goldnose as much as I ever did: his sweet goofy looks, his strong arms, his dance moves... If I could go back to those days, when the three of us would welcome him home after work, smiling, the kids clamoring around him and dinner hot in the oven… I'd do it in a heartbeat. Maybe, I thought, if I went to his door in my E.V.I.L. attire, maybe I could convince him he wanted me back…

There was a picture of the four of us on my table. I picked it up. The kids and I were smiling at the camera. He was looking away, his brow furrowed.

I sighed and rose to check on Billy.

*

The next morning, both Billy and Mary were running fevers, although Billy, happily, seemed rather more chipper than he'd been the previous day. I called Bob and confirmed I'd be dropping them off.

I'd dressed carefully in my best E.V.I.L. working clothes. One of the perks of E.V.I.L. is the tailored wardrobe. I'd worn the tightest, shortest skirt and the most plunging neckline I had — and that's saying a lot. Agents 119 and 120 had both been mesmerized by that outfit, to the point where I'd had no trouble extracting all kinds of secret passwords from them, and a big raise from E.V.I.L.

Bob didn't even seem to notice it. "Betty, I hope you realize what a big favor I'm doing you," he snapped, as the kids ran by us into the house. "I had plans for today —"

"I saw those matinee tickets," I said, and bit my tongue. I'd always wanted to go to the matinee with my husband, a romantic little oasis. He'd never had the time. But I'd seen the tickets on the table when I'd looked them up on surveillance a couple of days ago.

Bob rolled his eyes. "Stop stalking me."

"What," I said, "it's okay when you do it, when you're _married_ , but —"

"Look, there's no use getting into it now. I don't have time. I'll drop off the kids with you next Thursday, okay?" He slammed the door in my face.

I stared at the closed door. It had been my door, once upon a time.

*

I pasted a sinister smile on my face as I went into my torture room. "Ah, 123. Where did we leave off? Oh, I know: you were about to give me the secret plans. Yes?"

"Er, before we get into that," 123 said, "I was chatting with Rosa yesterday, and she told me a little about your, well, your situation."

"She did what?!" I was going to have to talk to Rosa. HR won't necessarily come down on you for sharing personal information with subjects, but it's reeeeally not encouraged. And even aside from HR, it's not like I want the entire world to know about my _situation_ , as 123 called it. At least it was early enough that my minions weren't in yet. (My minions, of course, know the whole thing. They talk to Bob's old minions, after all. But I didn't want to be more grist for the rumor mill.)

123 looked at my expression and offered, somewhat hesitantly, "I used to be, er, friends with 102. I confess that I came here partially to find out more about what happened to him." A shadow crossed over his face. For a second he looked haunted, the way my face looked in the mirror sometimes after I dropped off the kids at my old house, or when I saw Bob and 102 in the surveillance footage. "If you wanted… I have some of 102's things that you might find, well, you know. Useful. " 

He opened his palm and showed me the data chip hidden there. I had no idea how he'd got it there, strapped down as he was. He whispered, "102 was instructed to seduce Goldnose. Obviously it backfired, but… don't you think Goldnose would like to know that 102 didn't really love him? Even if, if he does now, it wasn't always real. It _wasn't_."

He swallowed and went on. "You still talk to Goldnose. You could show him that everything he thought he knew about 102 isn't true." He gestured with his chin at the chip in his palm.

I was really, really glad that the minions weren't in yet. I took the chip from 123's unresisting hand and looked at it. If Goldnose knew, or thought, that 102 didn't love him… wouldn't he still want me? Couldn't we be a family again? No more hurried drop-offs, no more furtive watching of my ex-husband and his lover in grainy video, no more having to bite my tongue and say not a single thing, and even try to smile, when my darling children came back from their custody time with their words tumbled over themselves describing how much fun they'd had, and how 102 was a pretty cool guy after all, and how much they loved their Dad…

I looked at 123. He gave me a tentative smile. He was hoping the same thing, I could tell; hoping he could get 102 back, hoping 102 would still love him with Goldnose no longer in the picture, hoping hoping hoping.

Goldnose and me and the kids, a happy picture-perfect family.

It was a lovely fantasy. I wanted it more than anything else in the world. I was so, so close to taking the chip and going right to Goldnose — 

But it was a fantasy.

It wasn't real. It hadn't even been real at the time. It wasn't real in the picture I had of the four of us: three of us smiling, the other one already wanting out.

What was real was that Bob loved 102, and as far as I could tell 102 loved Bob, much as 123 and I wished they didn't. 

And Bob didn't love me.

And that wasn't going to change.

Before I had a chance to think more about it, I dropped the chip in the electronics disposal, where it was vaporized in a tiny burst of flame. 123 made a sound more anguished than any I'd heard him make when I threatened him with our various torture devices. (He'd been holding out on me. I knew it!)

"Come on," I said, turning up the power to the rotor blades, "let's get back to work."

*

I got the secret plans from 123 after all. He folded pretty quickly after that. I was running out of threats, so I guess that was good timing. 

(What, you thought we actually _tortured_ the agents? Ha, are you kidding? It's against so many regulations, HR would skin us alive. Literally, actually. We've got the machines in the basement, and HR itself is, apparently, immune to the torture regulations.)

Although the secret plans themselves turned out to be bogus. So, you know, that's how it goes. But the higher-ups were still pleased I got them at all, and I got a nice bonus.

123 and I meet for drinks once in a while, when Bob has the kids. He's a nice guy. He doesn't hold the E.V.I.L. stuff against me, and I don't hold his fake secret plans against him. We both understand it's just work, you know?

He still holds a torch for 102, but he understands why I didn't take him up on his offer. He even agrees with me. He just can't stop holding on to the idea that 102 might come back.

I've been working on letting go. Being a working mom isn't so terrible, when all is said and done. It's nice to have a career, and I turn out to be quite good at my E.V.I.L. job. And I'm starting to like being able to go out for drinks or and sleep in when I don't have the kids, and not to have to put up with a husband whose mind is clearly elsewhere. I've even started going on a couple of dates. It's actually kind of refreshing to talk to someone who's listening to what I'm saying, you know?

I've put away the pictures of Bob. 

And I don't watch the surveillance video of him any more. It's not worth it.


End file.
